


build it up with silver and gold

by potter



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: First Dates, Kid Fic, M/M, but also in a stressed and sad way, but in a stressed and sad way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:28:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28393878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potter/pseuds/potter
Summary: Hansol’s life is already falling apart when his niece punches her chubby-fisted way into it.
Relationships: Boo Seungkwan/Chwe Hansol | Vernon
Comments: 22
Kudos: 140





	build it up with silver and gold

**Author's Note:**

> written in like an hour fueled by the existential horror of being alive in your 20s, sorry vernon

Hansol’s life is already falling apart when his niece punches her chubby-fisted way into it.

He’s not _drowning_ drowning. If he sat down to count his blessings there would be enough to fill at least a few fingers. Health, apartment, friends, job - _j_ _ob_ , entry-level, barely making enough to keep his fridge stocked, but still, a _job_ , which is _his._ The health is so-so, the apartment is cramped, the friends are assholes, but it’s more than most people get in a lifetime. He should be grateful. He _is_ grateful.

Grateful only gets you so far.

“No, I’m just coming out of the station, I’ll be there in five- don’t put your fingers there, it’s dirty- four minutes. I won’t be late. Tell him I won’t be late.”

His deskmate barely has time to get out a plaintive _hurry_ before Hansol’s phone is in his pocket and his hands are full of Seoyun. Nobody ever told him that the human toddler is just a collection of many individual monsters all screaming and gnashing for attention at the same ear-splitting volume. There’s hair escaping its pigtails, hands seeking out stickiness, and a mouth looking for something, anything to wail about. Today, it’s socks: the left purple one went missing, and even though back in the apartment the yellow ones were a (tearily) acceptable compromise, somewhere between the last three stations they became _unacceptable_.

Hansol can handle the colds. He can do the snot, too, and the shampoo in her eyes, and the picky eating, and the finger-paint all over the walls. He’ll pick up the toys and soothe her under-the-bed fears. But he’s never been good with crying.

She’s still kicking and screaming when he arrives at the daycare center. He learned early on to wait to pick up coffee until _after_ drop-off - his boss wasn’t amused at the stain from a tantrum about subway announcements - so he has one hand free to cradle her to his chest, the other back on his phone. Three emails come in rapid succession: _where are you????, Meeting 9AM, Re: Thursday eval._ He shoves his phone into his bag.

He opens the front door with his hip; he heard somewhere (Chan?) that rocking makes babies happy, but Seoyun screams even louder, like she’s trying to set some sort of record. “Shh, shh, shh,” Hansol hums uselessly. The small entry hallway is empty except for two rows of doll-sized shoes: the other parents and caretakers would have dutifully dropped off their charges fifteen minutes ago, well-fed, well-dressed, wearing the _right_ socks on their tiny feet.

He kneels down in front of her. She doesn’t flinch back anymore, but she’s glowering with eyes so wet and watery Hansol can see himself in them. He doesn’t think she’ll ever like him getting this close. He doesn’t think she’ll ever like _him_. He doesn’t know if he would, either, in her situation.

“How about I make you a promise,” he says, and very deliberately reaches his hand out to hover in the air between the two of them. It takes up too much space, his hand, his body, and she regards it with the same suspicion she’s given nearly every move he’s made these last two and a half months. But the screaming has at least decreased to slow, hiccuping sobs, and she doesn’t look like she wants to bite him anymore. (Lately she’s been biting him.)

“If Seoyun is good today and listens to everything the teachers say, I promise to do my best to find the missing sock.” Seoyun seems to be considering what he’s saying. That’s further than he got yesterday. Encouraged, he goes for broke: “ _And_ we can get ice cream on the way home.”

Ice cream is a very familiar bribe in their newly founded household; Seoyun’s face is still blotchy and red, but there’s a smile at the corner of her mouth that makes Hansol’s heart crumple even more, if that was possible. She reaches out her tiny fingers and latches onto his thumb. He moves their hands up and down, uncle and niece observing a solemn, silent pact.

“Ahem.”

Of course.

“Oh,” Hansol says, looking up with the expression of someone he would hope was not just caught bribing a two year old with calorie bombs in exchange for her silence on the case of the missing Elsa socks. “Good morning.”

Seungkwan looks down at Hansol with an expression he probably means to be unreadable. (It’s just exasperation.) “It’s 8:15.”

The part of Hansol that doesn’t like self-preservation but does like the way Boo Seungkwan’s forehead ticks when he’s angry has him pointing out: “It’s 8:14.”

Seungkwan’s forehead does the thing. Hansol, despite Seungkwan’s best efforts, likes it.

“Center rules state that all students are to be dropped off at 8am at the _latest_ , as I’ve reminded you several times, Hansol-ssi. There are a number of phone applications you can use to help plan your route to ensure your timeliness, please let me know if you need any recommendations.” He rattles off this speech like he’s said it a thousand times, which he has. It seems almost calming.

“I’m sorry,” says Hansol, only smirking a little.

Seungkwan ignores the smile and takes the apology, nodding like he’s doing Hansol a favor. And then he he looks down and does this weird alchemical thing where his face completely _melts_ into an adoring, delighted expression, like he’s seeing the sun after three weeks of rain: “And _Seoyun-ah_ , what _beautiful_ socks you have on this morning, did you pick them out all by yourself?”

Seoyun giggles as Seungkwan whisks her into his arms and bounces her up and down exuberantly. Hansol tries not to feel betrayed. But he gets it. 

By lunchtime he’s had three meetings, five phone calls, and one walk-in on the division head clipping his toes over a communal sink. He barely has time to check messages as the convenience store microwave nukes his lunch. But he’s happy he gave himself the luxury: a picture and text message are his reward. The picture: Seoyun curled up around an enormous octopus pillow, sleeping happily in its sucker-covered arms. The text: _Please pick her up on time today. - Boo Seungkwan._

It’s not a lot, but given what he has, it gets him through the rest of the day.

Seoyun is, predictably, the last toddler waiting to be picked up. She’s not the only one waiting.

“I’m going to laminate the rules for you and put them on your fridge. No, your ceiling, so it’s the first thing you see in the morning.” Seoyun and Seungkwan are sitting side by side on the front steps. Seungkwan is still wearing a bright pink apron, but he’s changed into his outside shoes, which is weird. It’s weird, to see Seungkwan outside instead of in the tiny little room with the yellow felt sun; it’s weird to think of any of Seoyun’s teachers as existing somewhere else besides her classroom, but Seungkwan especially.

Seoyun’s backpack hangs off of Seungkwan’s shoulder, and its owner has her head on his knee. Seoyun’s little hand is curled around Seungkwan’s thumb. It tightens when Hansol approaches. She watches him with a soft but guarded expression.

“Pickup is at 6,” Hansol says absently, picking her up from Seungkwan, “it’s 6:05.” She fusses a little, but the day has worn her out and so she doesn’t kick at him, only bites a little when he tries to pet her hair. He settles for her back instead.

“Ice cream,” she mumbles into his shoulder. She repeats herself when Hansol doesn’t immediately respond, like he might not have heard, or maybe he did but he’s considering breaking his promise. Seungkwan’s mouth does a thing that means he’s trying not to laugh.

“Seoyun-ah, remember what we learned last week,” he says in the singsong teacher voice he usually uses on Hansol, “sweet food after healthy food, right?”

Hansol can feel her frown with her whole body. “Promised,” she says plaintively; Hansol hadn’t known she could be plaintive. Down on the steps, even the mighty Boo Seungkwan looks wounded.

“Alright, alright,” Hansol says, bouncing her up and down on his hip, “good memory. Ice cream at the grocery store, and,” he’s looking at Seungkwan, gauging his reaction, “healthy food we can eat first, like you learned.” It’s a blatant play, but he’s still given a smile.

Well, carpe diem. He nudges Seoyun so she has to lift her head from his shoulder and look directly into his eyes; still suspicious, still as mad as she ever is (at him, at how little she is and how big the world insists on being), but close enough to Seungkwan to maintain a little calmness. “Maybe we could ask the teacher if he’ll come with us? To make sure we pick out the best food?”

The question itself wouldn't be enough, but the way Hansol meets Seungkwan's eyes, refusing to turn away, is. He's pretty sure he's got it right, picked up that Seungkwan's - everything - is as much a signal as any cheesy pickup line Chan tries out or pigtail pulling Seungcheol does with that dancer he likes. If he's wrong - if this doesn’t work out - he’ll be embarrassed for a day and then get to watch Seungkwan splutter and flail every time he drops Seoyun off until she starts elementary school. If he does, well, it’ll probably be the exact same outcome. Either way, it was worth it to see how red Seungkwan’s face has gotten.

Seoyun’s too young to be burdened by manners or dating etiquette. She immediately flails her little hands and legs towards Seungkwan and starts to wiggle around like she’s trying to fly through the air at him. Hansol, startled, has no choice but to let her go, and Seungkwan immediately hot potatoes her into his arms. The second she’s there she’s grabbing at him and giving him that look Hansol knows nobody, not even Iron Willed Seungkwan, can resist.

“Come with,” she says decisively, as if her word is law. “Ice cream and dinner.”

And it must be, because Seungkwan’s face suddenly looks the way Hansol feels every day of his life - helpless.

“Sure,” he says, looking at Seoyun, and then at Hansol, “okay.”

The grocery store is a mini-catastrophe in itself, so by the time they get back home Seoyun is fast asleep on Seungkwan’s shoulder and Hansol has an enormous chocolate stain on his best (cleanest) shirt. He leaves Seungkwan standing among the wreckage that is their living room and changes quickly in his bedroom. It used to be a storage space, but his old room was the only one big enough to fit Seoyun’s crib, and it’s not like he does anything in here besides sleep. It’s fine.

Seungkwan is still surveying the scene when Hansol emerges. Hansol briefly, painfully, sees their home through an outsider’s eyes: dishes going to mold in the sink, toys scattered haphazardly across the carpet, a pile of papers Hansol still has to get through tonight stacked up by the couch. In the beginning Hansol tried to set aside time every week to clean, or at least shove the debris in the closet, but then the closet door started jamming and any free second he got was monopolized by sleep.

And that’s fine, too, except for that there’s a little frown Hansol’s never seen before on Seungkwan’s face, and it’s not necessarily for Hansol, but for his sad little apartment, and his sad little life, and that’s… There’s not a lot that phases Hansol. He lives life day by day, takes what happens, good or bad, and rises above it, lives with the expectation that he’ll be happy eventually, if not right in that very moment. But Seungkwan’s expression is like all of the misery and the exhaustion and the helplessness he’s been keeping frozen these last few months start to boil and bubble. Seungkwan is frowning like that because of Hansol’s life. Seungkwan is frowning like that because he pities Hansol.

 _Maybe_ , the little Chan voice that lives in Hansol's head lectures, _you should think for a second before inviting random cute teachers into the pigsty you call a life._ The real Chan would never say that, not sober at least, but his brain does a passable enough impression to leave Hansol standing frozen like that, in his tiny, shitty apartment, with his hand on his tiny, shitty bedroom door. And when Seungkwan turns to look at him there must be something in his expression that lets loose every thought he’s had in the last ten seconds because Seungkwan’s face does another one of those weird chemical reactions and melts, again, but in a different way.

“You need help,” he says, and his tone doesn’t leave Hansol room to do anything but nod. He doesn't like pity. But if it's all Seungkwan has to give, he'll take it. 

Seoyun’s still asleep three hours later. She managed to wake up for dinner, at the real table this time, not just on the couch in front of a bright TV. While Seungkwan took on the dishes, he made Hansol throw out all of the old magazines and postcards he never looked at, and then put all of his work papers into neat, _organized_ manilla folders (refusing to tell Hansol why he, a preschool teacher, had them in his bag; infuriating, but in a nice way). He helped Hansol put Seoyun’s toys into bins and sweep under the couch, and even washed her sheets while Hansol bathed and dried her.

Seoyun, who was too wired on ice cream to have a tantrum, fell asleep in the bath, and when Hansol lays her down in her crib she clutches at his arm and refuses to let him go until he kisses her forehead and cuddles her cheek. It’s getting easier, sock tantrums notwithstanding. Hansol loves her. She could love him someday, he thinks. And even if she isn’t, he’ll keep loving her.

When he comes back out to the living room Seungkwan is collapsed on a couch free of papers, in a living room free of clutter, in an apartment that isn’t sparkling, but could be someday. He gives Hansol a tired wave, and Hansol, who doesn’t know which word goes with this feeling, waves back.

They sit side by side on the couch for a while. The TV chatters for them, a comforting wave of sound and music Hansol’s too tired to hear. When he looks over at Seungkwan, Seungkwan’s looking back at him. Unlike other people, who would blush, look down, shy away, Seungkwan doesn’t start; just smiles a little, the same way he’s been smiling at Hansol all day, somewhere in the deep valley between exasperated and fond. It makes his whole face different, or maybe that’s just because Hansol wants to think he could inspire in someone a whole new way of seeming. He’s very tired.  
  
“Ice cream bribes work, _apparently_ ,” Seungkwan says. He makes his words come out prissy and judgemental, but he still looks amused. Hansol, who’s trying not to think, reaches over to brush the hair off of his forehead, brush the dark skin underneath his eyes. It’s still there when he moves his thumb away, but Seungkwan leans in after it, which is good, too.

Seungkwan didn't lecture Hansol about his living conditions. He didn't say anything about the clutter, or the dirty dishes, or the laundry that still needed to be done. He played with Seoyun when she started to get fussy, and he touched the small of Hansol's back when his shoulders began to sag. He met Hansol straight in the eyes - met Hansol's life straight-on - and didn't look away. Maybe it wasn't pity, but something close. Something to be shared, commiserated over. Something to connect them. 

“She’s asleep,” Hansol says, and Seungkwan’s expression takes on hints of relief. He loves all of his kids - Hansol realized this after he managed to come to pick up too early one day and found him under a pile of at least a half dozen 2 year olds, all of them screaming his name at the top of his lungs as he threatened to send them all to detention for the rest of their _lives_ \- but Hansol’s pretty sure he’s especially fond of Seoyun. It makes him feel prideful, for a lot of reasons.

“She’s getting easier,” he continues, because when he talks Seungkwan stays here, close to him, rocking a little closer with every word. “It’s still hard, but she’s getting easier.”

Seungkwan looks at him seriously, and says, “It’s okay if she’s not. It's- You're 24. You don't need to have everything figured out. Has anyone ever told you that? It's okay if you're falling apart. We all are." 

Hansol doesn’t know what to do with that, so he just kisses Seungkwan instead, because at least that’s something he can do. But when he breaks away Seungkwan’s expression is still serious - more serious than Hansol would like, given the quality of that kiss, but also it’s fine. He likes all of Seungkwan’s expressions equally.

Given tacit permission, he touches Seungkwan's hair, his jaw, his hand. He likes that he can touch. He's so tired, and Seoyun will wake up and start screaming so soon, but right now he can sit on his couch and touch Seungkwan. "Was this the worst first date you've been on?" he asks, not really curious, mostly just wanting to see how Seungkwan will react to the word _date_.

He smiles, which is the best option he could pick. "Ask me again in a few months," he says, which is also good. There's been a sob living in Hansol's chest for longer than he's known it was there, but he's re-learning there's rooms for other things, too. Things like this. 

It’s Seungkwan’s turn to reach up. Touch Hansol’s cheek, the soft part that’s still mostly baby fat, which makes him smile. “You should ask for help more often, Hansol-ssi,” he says. “I wasn’t joking about laminating the drop-off schedule.”

Hansol leans in now, breath fogging up the fake glasses he’s always wanted to tease Seungkwan about. He can feel Seungkwan’s heartbeat through his thumb: steady, but with a little pickup every few beats. On the verge of something bigger, maybe, or at least something different. Seoyun is sleeping in the bedroom; Seungkwan is on his couch. Hansol is drowning. There’s a liferaft he never thought he would need bobbing up and down nearby. He thinks he has enough strength left to haul himself up. He hopes he does.

“I’m too young for this,” he whispers, and Seungkwan kisses him in reply, which isn’t really a reply so much as a way to shut him up. But he seems to mean something by it. So Hansol lets himself be shut up, with the promise that tomorrow, at the very latest, he’ll start worrying again.

**Author's Note:**

> [twt](http://twitter.com/healpulse)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [your sagging shoulders](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29242647) by [notspring](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notspring/pseuds/notspring)




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